


Sugar & Spice

by Stairre



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Consensual Under-negotiated Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Don't copy to another site, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Interface Mods, Knotting, Mutual Pining, Older Woman/Younger Man, Possessive Behavior, Predator/Prey, Sexual Roleplay, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Use Your Words, Woman on Top, but like in the context of a roleplay scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27761638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stairre/pseuds/Stairre
Summary: Hot Rod’s just coming back in from patrol, driving up the ramp into theArk, pausing at the scanners so Red Alert can ascertain that he is, in fact, the same Hot Rod that left eight hours ago, when Arcee waves him over from just inside the entrance area.---In which Arcee has a new spike mod she wants to show off, Hot Rod has a really,reallygood time, a roleplay scene perhaps hits a little too close to home, and the author just wants to know where all this plot comes from when they try to write porn.
Relationships: Arcee/Hot Rod
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	Sugar & Spice

**Sugar & Spice**

–

Hot Rod’s just coming back in from patrol, driving up the ramp into the _Ark,_ pausing at the scanners so Red Alert can ascertain that he is, in fact, the same Hot Rod that left eight hours ago, when Arcee waves him over from just inside the entrance area.

Hot Rod transforms, standing still whilst the scanner’s rays slide up and down his root mode, and tilts his helm in askance. The entrance area is split into two parts, and Arcee’s behind the wall that separates the outer entrance from the inner entrance, looking out through one of the thrice-reinforced, shatter-proof, blast-resistant crystal glass windows. Sound-proof, too, of course, so she’s going to have to wait a couple minutes more.

_/ Clear, /_ Red Alert’s voice on the comms comes through. _/ Welcome back, Hot Rod. /_

_/ Good to be back, sir, /_ Hot Rod says before closing the channel on the sound of Red Alert grunting a wordless affirmative.

The _Ark’s_ security officer is paranoid as all hell, but there’s something comforting in the way he welcomes back those who return from patrols and missions: Red Alert’s processor, Hot Rod’s picked up, is constantly fighting between the need for patrols to secure their base, and his own personal need to have everyone he’s responsible for locked up safe and sound inside the _Ark._ Hot Rod appreciates all that the poor over-worked mech does, even if his excessive micro-management has been a bit of a learning curve since he joined the Earth team.

Hot Rod steps through the inner blast doors and immediately Arcee’s arm is around his shoulders and she’s leading him off, her EM field anticipatory.

“What’ve you done now?” Hot Rod asks suspiciously as he lets her guide him through the orange corridors (why _orange?)._ He gets nothing more than a fey laugh as an answer. “I have to file a patrol report, you know.”

“It’s not due ‘til tomorrow,” Arcee waves off, “and you’re not gonna want to miss out on what I’ve got planned.”

Arcee leads him all the way back to the quarters given to their cell when they first joined the Earth Autobots. One of the sides of the common room is dented quite far inwards, a product of the crash all those millions of years ago, but everything else in here has been fixed up. Even the doors are only sticky some of the time. The space is meant for a squad of eight to share, between four rooms. Their cell is only six strong, so Ultra Magnus and Kup have their own private rooms while Hot Rod partners with Springer and Arcee partners with Blurr.

Arcee drags Hot Rod into her and Blurr’s quarters. Blurr’s away right now, being the Autobots’ fastest scout and shock trooper, out on a mission in Eastern Europe somewhere. He won’t be back for at least another week.

“Been waiting ‘til I had the room to myself,” Arcee says, spinning Hot Rod around and pushing him down to sit on her berth. “Got a new mod to show off.”

“Um,” Hot Rod says weakly, though his half-cooled engine is already revving up, “do I at least get a shower first?”

Arcee pauses, lip plates pursing, and that’s the face of a smug actress if Hot Rod’s ever seen one. “No,” Arcee tells him after a moment. “Gonna take you here, still dusty from the road. Unprepared for this sort of encounter.”

Hot Rod raises an optic ridge. “A lone and unsuspecting Autobot plucked straight from the tracks, whisked away to the predator’s lair?” he asks, and it’s a game they’ve played before, and Hot Rod is more than willing. Arcee greatly enjoys playing up her dangerous side – though, of course, only with a consenting partner – and Hot Rod’s rarely ever not been down for whatever scene Arcee’s mind has conjured up. They’re compatible that way.

“Got it in one,” Arcee grins down at him. “Predator-prey with a spike mod? No pain, bit of roughness, probably a bit of overstimulation. You game?”

“Hell yeah,” Hot Rod says. “Cuffs?” Arcee’s got a pair under her berth, and Hot Rod’s – _heh_ – more than familiar with them.

Arcee hums thoughtfully. “No,” she says, “or at least not on the first go. Think it’d be a bit too soon without experience with the mod to judge whether or not that would be too intense for a first try scene.”

“Do I get to know what you’ve done to your spike?” Hot Rod says, glancing down at Arcee’s closed panel.

“You can,” Arcee says. “I mean, it’d be nice to surprise you, but if you’re not down for that, then I can send you the schematic files right now.”

Hot Rod considers. On one hand he’s getting into something without knowing the full details, but on the other hand he trusts Arcee implicitly, and they have a lot of experience together. She’d know if something got to be too much, and they have long-standing safe words anyway. “… Surprise me,” he decides.

Arcee grins, blue optics brightening. “Good,” she purrs. “Now, get back up, I’ve changed my mind: I want to _throw you_ onto that berth.”

“You want to chase?” Hot Rod asks.

Arcee’s EM field hums its appreciation of that idea. “Just through the common room,” she says. “Springer and Magnus are out with Blurr in Bulgaria, and Kup just went on-shift. We’ve got the place to ourselves _all night.”_

“No need to be quiet, then?” Hot Rod grins.

“I wanna hear you _screaming,”_ Arcee replies.

Instead of answering, Hot Rod begins the scene, using his naturally quick frame to dart out of Arcee’s room and into the common area, rounding the sofa and turning back to watch Arcee emerge, a smirk on her face and a leisurely step in her walk, her EM field sharpened and smug, all the confidence of the hunter in her.

A light laugh rips itself from Hot Rod’s vocaliser as Arcee rounds one end of the sofa and he rounds the other, keeping it between them. They go back and forth like this for a while, playing cat and mouse in the common room, Hot Rod even shoving a chair into Arcee’s path at one point and then yelping as she leaps over it and swipes playfully, Hot Rod darting just fast enough to avoid her reach.

It ends when Arcee finally vaults the sofa and pins Hot Rod to the wall, one hand pressing against – but not wrapped around – his neck cables and the other grabbing his panel, thumb over where his spike rests underneath, fingers between his legs, and then she’s lifting him up with strength most would say her slim frame should not possess. “Gotcha,” she growls, a grin on her face.

Hot Rod makes a defeated whimper, running his vent fans higher than strictly necessary, keeping with the idea that he’s given Arcee a long and hard chase and has finally been run to the ground. His valve is already clenching behind its panelling, heating up his array beneath Arcee’s hand. Frag, it’s _so hot_ when she manhandles him around like this. And with her grip in such an intimate place? Already Hot Rod can feel that slip into submission tinting his thoughts, the desire to be _caught_ inside him.

With one hand between his thighs and the other shifting to cup the back of his neck, Arcee hefts Hot Rod back to her room, jamming the door panel shut with her elbow behind them, the clunk of the lock sliding into place loud despite the way both their fans are running fast. As promised, Arcee presses a kiss to Hot Rod’s lips, nips at his neck cables, right over where the most vital ones are, and slings him onto her berth roughly. Hot Rod bounces a little – the berths here on Earth are in much better shape than the ones on Cybertron, though that isn’t saying much.

Arcee pounces, crawling on top of him, hands pinning down his wrists. “Now I’ve got you right where I want you,” she croons, modulating her tone to sound both smug and possessive. “Pretty little thing,” she adds on.

“Please…” Hot Rod whispers.

Arcee strokes his face, soft and gentle. “Don’t worry,” she purrs out, “I’ll make you feel good. You’ll be safe here.”

She kisses him, pushing her glossa roughly inside his mouth when Hot Rod parts his lips on a gasp. Her knee slides between his legs, spreading them open, and she grinds her knee plate directly against Hot Rod’s interface panel.

Hot Rod plays up exhaustion, struggling lightly against Arcee’s hold, as though trying to get away from her. In reality, some of those struggles _might_ be aimed at increasing the friction of her knee against his panel, but it’s not part of the game to mention that bit out loud. She knows anyway, of course, but she doesn’t seem inclined to stop him, so Hot Rod continues to put forth a valiant _last resistance_ before finally falling limp on her berth.

“Good mech,” Arcee praises. “Don’t you worry about anything, I’ve got you now. You’re mine. Nothing can hurt you here.”

Hot Rod whines into her mouth as she presses another kiss upon him, pulling at his lips with her denta, surely causing the soft metal there to dent a little. “You – you won’t…?”

“They can’t hurt you anymore,” Arcee says, assuring and possessive. “You’re _mine_ now. Surrender to me, let me in, let me claim you, and never be afraid again.”

Hot Rod has no idea who these nebulous _them_ are in the context of the scene, so he just imagines the Decepticons and lets the idea of never having to fight them or hide from them or crouch next to a dead friend ever again relax his frame. He parts his legs a little wider. “Please,” he says, and even he is surprised at the note of true longing in it.

Arcee’s grip tightens a little, and her optics go serious, “You’ll be safe with me,” she promises, and Hot Rod’s not even sure if this scene is maybe hovering a little too close to reality or not. It – feels good, anyway, the way Arcee’s voice goes low, the way the protective lash of her EM field against his drowns him in that feeling.

Arcee lets his wrists go, and true to the surrender, Hot Rod doesn’t try to move from underneath her. He lets her run her hands down his frame, over his front, teasing his headlights briefly, digging her fingertips into his hip joints, then gripping his thighs and pulling them apart. He whimpers at the way she spreads him as wide as his joints will allow, trailing her hands to his lower legs and pushing there so his knees rise up as she widens his thighs, leaving access to his panel wide open.

“Shh,” Arcee soothes, as though Hot Rod is nervous, so he immediately pastes a nervous look on his face and threads it into his EM field. “Don’t fret. This will feel good.”

“Promise?” Hod Rod breathes out shakily.

“Promise,” Arcee says firmly. Then she places one palm against his panel, curling her fingers into the pelvic seams, as though she were going to rip the armour away and expose him forcibly. She doesn’t, of course, but the fantasy idea that the action might happen makes Hot Rod’s thighs tremble slightly with a shot of something indefinable that raises his arousal to heady heights. Not true fear, since he is not afraid of Arcee, but maybe fear-adjacent, fit for use in consensual role play. It’s thrilling, anyway.

Hot Rod opens his panel, and the way Arcee has him spread means that his array is open and vulnerable, presented to her practically obscenely. His spike is still trapped behind a lock Arcee placed the last time they played – kept there with Hot Rod’s permission – so it’s still and depressurised inside its housing, but his valve is wet, all the charge in his array directed there, slick lubricant trailing out of the entrance, the mesh folds partially opened by the spread of his thighs.

“Beautiful,” Arcee croons, pressing her fingers against the warm mesh, bumping against and then teasing the throbbing and pulsing anterior node. “You’re so wet for me, so eager,” she sighs out.

“If – if you’ll keep me,” Hot Rod says, and he _was_ going to add the word _safe_ to that, but he ends up cutting it off for reasons he can’t quite grasp, “then I’m yours.”

Arcee’s EM field flickers a moment. “Yes,” she says, soft like satin over steel, “mine.”

Then she shoves two of her fingers right up into his valve without ceremony.

Hot Rod throws his head back with a choked-off noise. There’s a light ache now in his valve, proof that Arcee squeezed past the entrance ring and the first interior caliper by force rather than by teasing them wider open, but all it does it make him clench down harder on her fingers, lubricant welling thicker to slick the way. Hot Rod’s not a fan of pain play particularly, but he can’t deny that a bit of roughness goes a long way for him when he’s in the mood for it.

Arcee hums a pleased tone, spreading her two fingers, the pleasurable aching inside Hot Rod’s valve increasing as she entreats it to open for her, to let her in. She places one forearm across his abdomen, leaning her weight down on it, pinning him, while the other hand continues to push its way deeper into his valve, digits skirting the second interior ridge and teasing there, persuading the caliper beneath the wet mesh to loosen.

Hot Rod moans as Arcee curls her fingers inside him, stroking his inner valve walls, fingers bumping and sliding against the ridges inside, zinging bursts of pleasure through his array. Hot Rod’s calipers ripple futilely against the intrusion, slowly widening the channel as Arcee forces them, one after the other, into submission, and the lubricant inside is rich with charge, flooding both their sensor-nets. The bumps of sensors beneath the mesh, gathering around the calipers and the ridges they make, are all singing with ecstasy underneath Arcee’s efforts.

There’s a slight burn in his entrance ring as Arcee slides in a third finger, the first and second calipers stretching wider, the third caliper just beginning to give way. Hot Rod vents out in incoherent gasps as something coils tighter and hotter in his abdomen, instinctually knowing that just past the third caliper ridge is his interior node, and wanting, so desperately, for Arcee’s fingers to touch it. Every moment she spends getting closer feels strung with anticipation, and Hot Rod _aches_ for her digits to press against that desperately sensitive node, intimately deep inside of his array.

_(Primus –_ and she hasn’t even gotten to opening her panel and trying out her new mod! Apparently he likes this scene more than he anticipated he would. No loss, of course, but he’s not usually this unstrung just from Arcee fingering his valve – though, as always, she is very good at it.)

In an act of truly skilled timing, Arcee leans down and places the flat of her glossa right onto Hot Rod’s anterior node at the very same instant that her fingers manage to squeeze their way past the third caliper as it gives up its resistance suddenly, rocking right into the interior node and lighting Hot Rod up with pleasure, charge zapping throughout both their frames, EM fields sparking intensely. Arcee groans as Hot Rod lets out a cut-off cry, his trembling thighs clamping in against Arcee’s helm on instinct.

It takes Hot Rod a moment to re-orient himself enough to spread his thighs again – Arcee isn’t making it easy on him, wrapping her lips around his anterior node and sucking, pulling his mind increasingly away from rational thought as she sends him higher and higher, her fingers rubbing directly against his interior node deep within him, lubricant weeping from his valve and being lapped up by her, glistening on the mesh folds. Arcee hums in appreciation at the taste – the increased quality of the energon produced on Earth by thermal power is much, _much_ better than what they had on Cybertron, and that higher quality translates _everywhere_ for their kind.

“Please,” Hot Rod moans when he gets control over his vocaliser back, “please, please, _please!”_ He’s not quite sure what, exactly, he’s begging _for,_ but he knows that he doesn’t want Arcee to stop what she’s doing.

That’s probably why she does just that, of course. Hot Rod whines as she pulls back, her lips wet with oral and valve lubricant both, her optics bright and her face smug. One arm is still pinning down his abdomen, and she stills her fingers inside his valve, leaving them present but motionless inside of him.

“What is it?” she asks. “What do you want?”

“You,” Hot Rod gasps out. “Please, you – I want _you.”_

“ _Good,”_ Arcee croons.

She gives his interior node one last spark of charge from her fingertips before she pulls them out, digits shiny with his slick, stroking his folds gently as she shifts in place, bringing their arrays into line. Her panel clicks and slides open, her spike sliding out of its housing above her own wet folds. Hot Rod whimpers at the sight, calipers clenching down on nothing as memory files of how that spike feels when it’s heavy and hard inside of him crowd into his active processing.

On first sight, there’s nothing obviously _different_ about Arcee’s spike from when Hot Rod last saw it. Of course, not all mods are particularly visually attention-catching, but on a second look, the base of her spike seems to be somewhat larger than before, the tiny segmented metal plates more numerous and in a different interlocking pattern than the rest of her spike. _What’s that?_ Hot Rod wants to ask, but – he agreed to it being a surprise, and he doesn’t want to break the scene.

He puts the thought out of mind, focusing instead on the transfluid beading at the flared spike-head, one of Arcee’s older mods having long since replaced the standard metal with a charge relay – when that spike-head impacts with an interior node, stored charge can be dispersed directly, heightening pleasure for both as valve lubricant carries and holds charge very well. Arcee’s used that mod more than once to make Hot Rod’s overload so many times his valve lubricant tanks have _run dry._ It’s always a good time with Arcee spiking – Hot Rod has _no idea_ why some people get grumpy with how demanding she can be in the berth. Like, they _agreed_ to interface with her? They _know_ what she’s like?

Arcee wraps her slick hand around her spike, lubing it up, rising on her other arm to press against Hot Rod’s abdomen with her hand only. She looks down at him, wrecked and vulnerable before her, his valve on display, the entrance ring visibly clenching in anticipation. He looks back, face contorted in want, frame trembling from helm to pede.

Arcee straddles Hot Rod, her hands taking hold of his legs and positioning them around her, Hot Rod taking that as his cue to cross his ankle joints at the small of her back, wrapping the two of them together. She smiles down at him as her fingers drift away from where they were hooked under his knees, one hand gripping his hip and one guiding her spike-head to rest against his valve entrance.

“Oh, you _are_ wonderful, aren’t you?” she sighs. Then she flexes her hips and pushes her spike inside of him, catching on the entrance ring for a moment before it gives way and the flared head breaches Hot Rod, larger than the fingers that had previously occupied it.

Arcee lets out a low groan as Hot Rod’s weeping valve sparks charge all over her sensitive spike, his hips bucking to meet hers, his vocaliser spilling wordless moans and whines in the air as she draws back a little and thrusts forward again, forcing her spike deeper into the narrow channel, feeling the rippling clenches of his calipers, the heat of the soft and wet mesh surrounding her.

The first ridge catches Arcee’s ribbed spike in a dazzle of pleasure, then the second, and then the valve clenches down too hard for the third one to submit to her in the same motion. Hot Rod gasps in desperate vents, his fans running high, his legs clamping around Arcee, trying to pull her farther in. His doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he digs his fingers into the high-density foam topper of the berth and tries to cling on for dear life.

Arcee grips Hot Rod’s hips and pulls him into her at the same time that she thrusts forward, both of them moaning when they meet in the middle in a burst of something almost too intense to be called pleasure. Arcee’s spike-head is pressing right up against the third caliper, the circular ridge inside still too tight for her spike to penetrate, and charge is leaking from the relay, buzzing through both their systems as Arcee sends more and more down through the mod to push Hot Rod right to the very brink.

“I – ” Hot Rod gasps with a static-laced vocaliser. “I think – please – I’m – ”

“Overload for me,” Arcee growls down at him, reducing him to a wreck with short and repeated thrusts into him, the ribs on her spike and the ridges inside his valve sliding against each other in bursts of intense pleasure, floods of charge from her spike relay and constant small impacts against the third ridge enticing it to loosen further with every second that passes. “I’ve got you.”

Hot Rod chokes on a moan as his third caliper finally gives way, Arcee’s spike-head impacting his valve ceiling, glancing the edge of his interior node. The new width at the base of her spike is enough to be felt, catching at the interior of his entrance ring, making the fit of her sheathed inside him more snug, his valve less able to leak lubricant out past her when she’s fully inside of him. He wonders what else it will do, because there’s no way she’d be this excited for just some minor adjustments, though even in its inactive state, the slight change of shape feels _great._

The touch of Arcee’s charge-heavy relay mod against his interior node is too much – his visual feeds short-circuits as his array flashes over and he falls into an overload, audios crackling as he lets out a cry he can barely hear, that hot coil inside him snapping and flooding his frame with a hot pleasure that sweeps through his systems and sends them all into resets.

He can feel Arcee moving inside him, short gasps falling from her own vocaliser as she rides out his overload with him, his valve contracting and rippling along her spike, freed charge spilling out between them in a repeating circuit. She gets close, but doesn’t manage to get pulled into an overload of her own before it’s over and Hot Rod’s falling limp beneath her, pleasure still aching throughout his frame but no longer blanking out his thoughts.

Hot Rod manages to online his optics after a moment, pixelation blurring the edges, and look up at Arcee’s face as she rocks into him, his valve still full and wet and flashing with bursts of ecstasy. His HUD is full of red lines – systems running resets – but the pleasure hasn’t stopped. That overload was like a pressure valve releasing steam; Arcee is still working him over, and Hot Rod knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s not walking out of this room before he’s overloaded at least another couple of times.

“You look so good beneath me,” Arcee tells him, her voice strained. “You take me so well.”

Hot Rod shifts his hips, tries to pull Arcee into him again by tightening the wrap of his legs around her. Arcee lets out a huff of a laugh, still rocking into him in small movements, which is just _cruel,_ really. She’s tormenting him by constantly stimulating him but not going hard enough to push him up over the edge again, instead keeping him in a state of drawn-out pleasure where there’s too much going on for his systems to adjust, but too little for his capacitors to really fill with charge again, enough to flash over.

“Please,” Hot Rod moans, feeling his interior node throb with pleasure as Arcee’s spike-head repeatedly stimulates it and his valve clenches as much as it can, calipers rippling as they try to draw Arcee in, the natural pattern they follow to attempt to milk a spike of all its transfluid. “Wanna – wanna feel you…”

“Feel what, my own?” Arcee asks, hushed. “Me inside you, filling you up? Sweet-spark, I’ll dig in so deep you’ll never get me out. You’ll lie there at night, alone, wanting, and all you’ll feel is how much you want me, and your own fingers will never be enough, and you’ll never forget how I felt inside you, how full and safe you felt…”

Hot Rod whimpers at the thought. It’s striking somewhere a bit too close to home – Arcee’s intense, and – and Hot Rod _wants_ Arcee, wants her more than he should, more than is advisable in their dangerous world. But this isn’t that world, is it? This is a fantasy world, and in it he’s Arcee’s.

“Don’t – ” Hot Rod chokes out quietly. “Don’t leave me…”

Arcee pauses a second, Hot Rod’s valve squeezing around her, blue optics staring up and meeting another pair, vulnerable in a way that has nothing to do with fantasy. She leans down, presses a chaste kiss to Hot Rod’s lips, nuzzles the side of his face, and says firmly, “Never.”

Then she adjusts her grip on his hips and thrusts – properly thrusts – into him, grinding when her spike sheathes fully inside of him, against that throbbing anterior node and his slick and sensitive folds, before pulling partially out, dragging her ribbed spike along each and every ridge, before slamming into him again, aiming for that intimate node inside of him, hard and fast. Charge crackles and fills the air, and Hot Rod lets out a choked scream while Arcee’s engine rumbles loud and aggressive as she stops teasing and starts fragging him into the berth with all her might.

It’s glorious, as always. Arcee’s spike-head relay is like a touch of pleasurable fire every time she pushes it right into Hot Rod’s interior node with the experience of someone who’s fragged Hot Rod so many times she knows exactly where to aim to reduce him to incoherency. Hot Rod heaves in vents and twists his fingers in the high-density foam, trying not to rip it but if he does Arcee will just laugh and look smug. She has before.

Both of their engines start rattling their frames, adding a vibration to the interface, their EM fields merged together and buzzing as one, Arcee’s full of some kind of possessive determination, Hot Rod’s open and desiring, inviting her deeper in. Her spike is heavy inside his valve, charge sparking from the head, ribs digging into his inner walls, and now it’s vibrating lightly, flooding his sensors with a deluge of stimulation, his anterior node pulsing and aching with every grind, sensor bundles inside his valve sucking up every bit of Arcee’s charge they can as his valve’s lubricant tanks drain more and more, seeping through the inner mesh to contribute to the absolute mess the two of them are making of Arcee’s berth.

Hot Rod sobs as his systems finish running their resets one by one and immediately start trying to red-line again, his HUD bombarded with data as his systems tell him all about how Arcee’s sending his frame on a high-speed collision course with another overload. Yes, yes, he _knows!_ Arcee’s not one to stop ‘til she’s wrung out every last bit of pleasure out of him that she can. And, even better, there’s no getting used to her: it’s an amazing experience every time.

And Arcee’s getting close, Hot Rod can tell. Her EM field is starting to project that _standing on a precipice_ feeling, and the intense pleasure they’re looping between them is balancing on a knife-edge between too-much and not-enough, burning through both of their systems and shaking their frames. Hot Rod knows that when Arcee goes over she’ll drag him with her – he’s too worked up with her charge so deeply in his systems and one overload already behind him to resist.

Then something begins to happen: Hot Rod feels an increase in the pressure at his valve entrance, as though Arcee is finding it harder to get in as she continues to snap her hips forward again and again, drawing her spike out about halfway before thrusting it back in. Hot Rod moans as his entrance ring stretches and stretches, forced into widening as the new mod at the base of Arcee’s spike seems to begin to get bigger the closer she gets to overload.

“Wh-what’s…?” Hot Rod groans out, unable to complete the question, but trusting that Arcee will know what he means.

“Knot,” Arcee gasps in answer. “Gonna – gonna tie you to me – gonna fill you – you up…”

Hot Rod’s still confused, but the matter sweeps straight out of his active processing by the way that Arcee’s spike shoves deep inside his valve and when she draws back, his entrance ring _won’t let her past,_ keeping her rocking in place inside of him _._

“Primus,” Hot Rod says, his words almost too staticky to parse. _“Primus!”_

“Your god isn’t here, pretty one,” Arcee gets out, “only me. You’re mine now.”

“Arcee,” Hot Rod says, not sure what he’s asking for, but wanting it so badly, “Arcee, Arcee…”

“Hot Rod,” Arcee says on a growl, her hands digging into his hips and leaving dents, dragging him to meet her every thrust as she rocks in place, every movement causing the – knot? – to swell further. “Nearly,” she grunts, “there…!”

Arcee shoves forward one last time, her relay nestled right against Hot Rod’s interior node, digging into the soaked mesh, a pleasure almost too intense to be called such, and then she’s spilling hot transfluid rich with its own charge as she overloads, her frame going tense as her systems flash over. The knot at the base of her spike swells completely, blocking any transfluid from seeping out, locking her inside of him: there’s no way she’ll be able to remove her spike from his valve until it’s gone down. They are – as she said – _tied together._

Hot Rod can’t even hear his own scream as the charge sparking from Arcee’s systems earths itself in his own frame, dragging him into overload with her. She’s rocking a little, instinctual, clinging tight to him, and his arms are around her, too, and he can’t remember when they left the berth topper. His valve is so heavy, so _full –_ her spike is inside of him from now until whenever, he physically _cannot_ get her out, and that is – that is so fragging _hot,_ oh, _Primus._

Past the swell of the knot, his valve is clamping down, hard, against every rib on her spike, against the hard swell of the knot, and – it’s not just his imagination, is it? She’s filling him with transfluid – a _lot_ of transfluid – more than normal. Is she draining her transfluid tanks?

It feels like it: Hot Rod’s sensors are transmitting back information about how full his valve is getting, how the interlocking metal plates underneath the mesh that form the valve channel are having to loosen and expand, to fit Arcee and her spike and her transfluid inside, the knot leaving it nowhere to go. It’s like she’s put a plug in his valve and told him that he has to keep his array full of her transfluid all day, like she did that one time – only _she_ is the plug, and her frame is still there, trembling above him as she comes back down from her own overload, her hands on his frame and her EM field going smug as standard processing returns to her.

The vents on Hot Rod’s shoulder pauldrons and sides gape open, steam flowing into the room, condensation dripping on both of their frames as small zaps of charge coruscate over their armour plates, both of them aching and falling limp. Arcee tilts down, places the side of her cheek plates against Hot Rod’s chest, vents steadily as the two of them shake a little, their core temperatures dropping rapidly as the room heats up around them.

She’s still inside him, keeping him heavy and full, and Hot Rod doesn’t want her to be anywhere else at all. He wants her to stay inside him forever, her EM field merged with his, their most intimate arrays connected and locked. That’s – those are dangerous thoughts, so he lingers for only a moment over them, bittersweet, before pushing them down to the back of his processor, where he keeps all the things he’s not allowed to have.

After a couple of minutes – it was a very intense overload – Arcee raises her head to look at Hot Rod, shifting up again above him. This tugs at Hot Rod’s valve as her spike tries to leave it and gets caught on the entrance ring, Hot Rod moaning lowly. Primus, he feels so good, so – exactly like Arcee said – so _claimed._

“ _Mine,”_ Arcee growls low, rocking her hips a little, Hot Rod whimpering at the thick knot and how it stimulates him, the throbbing of his anterior node at the graze of Arcee’s plating upon it. Then says, softer, “What are you?”

“Yours,” Hot Rod whispers shakily.

“Good mech,” Arcee praises.

The two of them let silence fall for another couple of minutes, Hot Rod finally unclenching his pedes from Arcee’s back and letting them rest on the berth, thighs still spread obscenely wide with Arcee between them. Inside him, Hot Rod can feel Arcee’s knot slowly start to go down, and he stares up at the ceiling and Arcee’s face with half-shuttered optics. That was – that was _intense._

Finally, he swallows, and says, “That’s a hell of a mod.”

Arcee chuckles. “Yeah. You okay?”

“I feel fragging _amazing,”_ Hot Rod assures her. “Just – slag, don’t think I could do it twice in one night, that’s all. It’s – a lot.”

“Too much?” Arcee asks, raising a hand to stroke Hot Rod helm, just over where his optics are, curling around to rest on his cheek.

“No, no,” Hot Rod says. “Like – slag – it’s _good._ But I think you were right to not include bondage – that would be a bit much right now. Where’d you get the idea?”

“A few of the Earth team have it,” Arcee grins. “It’s inspired by some Earth fauna – mammals from the family Canidae. Kinda like turbo-foxes in general appearance, most of them. Their male reproductive organs have this knot, and some enterprising mecha made it into a mod.”

“Huh,” Hot Rod says, but it’s hardly the first time organic life has inspired interface mods, so it’s only worthy of a passing curiosity. “Well, it’s – uh. It’s good. How long are we gonna be – knotted together?”

“Not much longer now,” Arcee says. “I have an emergency over-ride, but it takes about a breem for it to go down naturally. Couple more minutes, Roddy.”

Hot Rod’s valve clenches at those words, as though trying to force Arcee to stay, but he doesn’t comment. Lubricant and transfluid are already beginning to leak out from between them, the knot no longer so swollen it’s creating an impenetrable seal.

He thinks, instead, of Arcee choosing to get this mod, to literally _tie_ Hot Rod to her, to create a scene where she’s plucked him up and spread him out and _claimed him as her own._ A fantasy where he finds safety with her, and in the world beyond there are strangers he’s running from, and Arcee takes him and makes him hers and –

And _nothing._ If this fantasy is maybe a bit too close to things they cannot say, then it doesn’t matter. Those things will remain unsaid.

Arcee sighs. “Shoulda taken you from behind,” she says thoughtfully, “then I woulda had full access to your spoiler.”

Hot Rod shudders at the thought, the wetness between his legs seeping faster as the knot continues to go down. “Please, have mercy,” he says. “You’d have burnt out my pleasure circuits if you did that. I don’t want to see Ratchet or First Aid’s reaction to that.”

Arcee barks out a laugh. “Maybe next time,” she drawls out thoughtfully. Then, because she’s actually _evil,_ she rocks her hips a little, causing Hot Rod’s valve to clamp down hard as little bursts of pleasure spark amongst the aching there, too good to call it pain, but definitely the after-effects of a valve well used. Her knot’s nearly gone, now, and her spike slips out a little, hot against his over-sensitised folds where the transfluid-lubricant-condensation mess they’ve made is cooling rapidly.

“ _Arcee!”_ Hot Rod whines.

“Definitely next time,” Arcee confirms with a grin, running a hand over Hot Rod’s chest, pausing at the Autobot symbol printed over where his spark chamber is beneath, and pressing gently there.

Hot Rod groans as Arcee shifts her weight and drags her spike out of his valve, the loss of her leaving him feeling empty and longing. She presses her fingers inside of him, no longer needing to squeeze them in carefully, all four just slotting inside, letting his mesh walls clamp down on her, cupping the lubricant and transfluid pooling in her palm.

“Want a plug?” she asks, already leaning down against him and reaching her other hand under her berth.

“Please,” Hot Rod tries not to sob, but the thought of not being left spilling out, open and aching, is too enticing. This is – he’s felt something like this before, when a lover leaves his frame, and he wants them back but duty calls, but – not like this. It’s never been this intense, the sense of emptiness.

Arcee pushes one of her plugs into him – it’s the largest one she owns, Hot Rod recognises it, and usually they have to work him over for _ages_ to be able to fit it inside, but it slides in snugly this time and still feels small, in comparison to how Arcee felt.

“Thanks,” Hot Rod says anyway, voice sighing and tired. “Can I recharge here tonight?”

“Of course,” Arcee says, stroking his helm again. “You okay to rest here while I get us a pair of cubes? We’ll clean up later.”

“Sure,” Hot Rod says, yawning, and why shouldn't he be tired? He spent all day on patrol and came back to Arcee deciding to rock his world and batter his frame into pleasurable submission. “Kinda like havin’ you all over me,” he adds, in a slip of the truth that may not have otherwise left his vocaliser had he not been so tired.

Arcee hums. “You look good like this,” she says, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she gets up, clicking her panel back into place and retrieving a cloth to wipe herself with. “Blissed out, lovely, completely wrecked. Covered in my transfluid. If I had my way, no one else would ever see you like this.”

“They don’t,” Hot Rod assures her sleepily. “You’re the only one that takes me this way. Nobody else plays the games we do – well. No one I want to play with.”

Arcee pauses, then places a hand over his chest again, her palm atop his pulsing spark. Hot Rod stares at her, wondering why she looks like that, something soft in her face that he doesn’t usually see.

“I’ll be back soon,” Arcee murmurs. “You get some recharge, Roddy.” She smirks, but there’s a strange shadow in her optics that wasn’t there before. “You’ll need it for later.”

Arcee leaves, the door shutting behind her, and Hot Rod curls up on her berth, tugging her helm cushion closer to him, burying his face in it as his optical shutters close slowly. It smells like her: the polish she uses, and the scent of her gun oil. He lets it carry him down into a doze, unworried. She’ll be back soon. She always is.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I managed to accidently convince myself to seriously ship Arcee/Hot Rod during the process of writing this. It was mean to be a fun kinky oneshot - where does all this _emotion_ come from during my smut practice??
> 
> Anyway, G1 Hot Rod is a precious babe and Arcee recognises that. She just wants her cute little ~~husband~~ _friend_ to be safe... their world is functionally post-apocalyptic, and she just wants to protect what's hers. Is that too much to ask?
> 
> I can also be found on [tumblr](https://stairre.tumblr.com/). Come and say hello!


End file.
